Backslide
by Javanyet
Summary: While on a location shoot Mike finds an old habit too easy to revisit, and it could cost him the only woman he really wants. Chapter 7: Bonnie faces Bob and the aftermath of her blowout, but the hardest part is yet to come.
1. Homecoming blues

Bonnie was sitting in the waiting area seats when the guys emerged from the "VIP" jetway and their flight from the location shoot from Chicago. She'd been staring at the floor, but looked up as they approached. Mike looked like shit. He said nothing, but he did look her in the eye as he muttered, "Hey, Morris." She was grateful, at least, for that.

Davy nodded a quick hello and managed not to run like hell. Peter offered a pained smile and a "Gimme a call," and Micky dropped a quick kiss on Bonnie's head as he passed. As always, Chip and the other crew members that had taken part in the location shoot were elsewhere, handling the gear and making sure the expensive video and sound equipment made it into the trucks okay. Bob was where Bonnie had been until a short while ago: at the office, working.

"Here gimme that," Bonnie told Mike as she dodged his kiss. He stood still for a moment. "Come _on,"_ she urged him, taking his carry-on but leaving the Gretsch for him. "Let's get your luggage and get the hell out of here, okay?"

She had nothing to say as they loaded the stuff into the Rambler wagon, and Mike could see she was wound so tight her head was about to pop off. He wondered if she'd talked to Genie, then realized it was a stupid question. They told each other everything. He didn't ask for the keys, just slid into the passenger side and let her drive.

"Baby," he began after they were on the freeway headed home, "Morris..." but instead of going on he stared at the road ahead, unable to think of what to say next.

"Sshh," she said, "save it for when we get home. This heap isn't big enough to hold what I got to say."

* * *

When they got in the house he just dumped his luggage in the front hall and tried to put a hand on her shoulder, but she stepped away.

"I think I need some coffee," she announced and went to the kitchen. When the percolator was bubbling, she turned to face him.

"Okay, dammit, start talking."

He stared at her blankly.

"What?" she snapped. "Suddenly the man with an answer for _everything_ has nothing to say? UPI shoots a wire photo of you making out with some brunette all over the world, while you're shooting on location_._ What part of the shoot was _that,_ huh? I don't recall any bar scenes in the script."

He still was having trouble gathering his thoughts. "Look, nothing serious happened," he insisted.

Bonnie's eyes bugged out as she went red with rage.

"Nothing _serious_? Well I don't suppose you could have asked her to live with you because I'm already_ here_! " She shook her house-keys in his face, the ones on the silver armadillo key-chain he'd designed especially for her. "Or maybe you already hired another stained glass artist to replace my window?" She fumed silently for a minute. "So tell me, what 'not serious' _did_ happen?"

He was resigning himself to not having any right answer to her questions, but decided to keep the whole truth to himself for the moment. It was crazy, suicidal even, but he did it anyway.

"What you saw is what happened. A kiss, that's it. I don't know why or how, it just happened."

"_A_ kiss. I don't think so. What I saw was a walking swallow-and-grope, all over the hotel bar. Must have been 'just happening' half the night! And Jesus, Michael, if you don't know _how_ or _why_..." She trailed off, overcome by the absurdity of it, then strode to the living room and threw herself on the sofa and added in a wounded voice, "And Chicago. For Christsake, why couldn't you have done it in St. Louis, or Cleveland, or anywhere else that wasn't where _we_ started out, you and me?"

He frowned and sat down in the easy chair as if it were made of bone china. "You make it sound like I was _trying_ not to tell you."

"Well you sure as shit didn't try very hard _to. _God, Nesmith, just rub my face in it why don't you. The press sure did. 'Monkee business in Chicago: Mike Nesmith gets it on with a brunette beauty while his main squeeze slaves away in LA on the show that made him a rich man.' Nice. She was the 'brunette beauty,' and I didn't even have a _name_. And I couldn't even _reach_ you to ask you about it, you didn't return my messages to the hotel, I had no idea where you _were_."

"I didn't get it on with her," Mike said simply, praying she couldn't read him as well as she should. The words seemed to fuel her rage , even if she couldn't see through them.

She leaned forward and railed, "Oh, am I supposed to _thank_ you, you bastard? What _else_ didn't you do? You don't have to take your clothes off to get it on, you forget I've been on the road with you guys a time or two."

"NO. Nothing like that, nothing! She was just some extra, a model, we were all partying after the shoot and she was just there. I lost track of who I was and where I belonged, okay? A few minutes, maybe, before I said 'oh shit what is this?' and put on the brakes. But you know the cameras; they cut out all the context. How can I make you understand?"

Bonnie jumped up and stood over him. "_Understand!_ Why the hell should I have to _understand_ any of it! You didn't get it on with her, you didn't run off for the weekend, but you might as well have because now it's all I hear about! Every dark little back-of-my-mind doubt, the ones I don't even talk to you about because they are so absurd, well now they're flung in my face in front of the whole world." She ran from the room and returned with a gossip magazine featuring a glossy black and white of Mike dipping a woman over his knee in the kind of kiss she thought had become hers alone. The bar light wasn't the best, but the picture told its story.

"See, they got your good side again." She threw it at him; the pages cascaded around him on the floor. Then she ran out of things to shout, accusations to make, and so she just leaned down and screamed in his face, "FUCK YOU, Michael, I don't even know what else to say. You didn't get it on with her, big fat deal. You couldn't have cut me any deeper if you did. I suppose I should be grateful you're not telling me 'it didn't mean a thing'. It would be a shame to feel like this about something you thought was _nothing,_ a real damn shame to think you'd _do_ this to us for nothing."

He stared up at her, and finally gave a weary shrug. "What do you want," he said raggedly. "You want me to leave? _You_ want to leave? What?"

"Oh no, you don't get off that easy." Then her voice dropped to a painful whisper. "I don't know." She focused again on his eyes and saw that desperate need to make it right that hadn't made an appearance in a long time, and knew she really had no idea what she wanted.

"I want, I want..." She breathed in, a shaky gasp. "I want it not to have _happened. _Baby," she said the last word as if she couldn't help it, as if it were dragged out against her will, "I want _me_ to have been enough! I want her to have been a friend, or a memory, or _anything_, but not something worth risking _us_ for!"

He reached for her hand but she recoiled.

"She wasn't worth that, okay?" he insisted in a near-desperate voice. "That's why I stopped, that's why I left. Nothing and nobody else is worth risking us. I knew the press was around, I know I should have called you right away, but I was scared you'd be gone before I got back, that you'd hate me, that you'd decide all that lame shit and the old lame me is right back again. I thought if I waited I'd think of what to say, or have time to prove it's _not_ true, but I didn't know how, and then it was time to come home and I was even more afraid. Stupid, right? What can I say, Morris, what can I do? I can't undo what's done, I can't. I don't know what to tell you that will make a difference."

She sank to her knees in front of him, and put her hands on his knees. She looked to him like she was begging, and it made him feel sick.

"You know what to do. Tell me you love me. Tell me you love me and _mean_ it, and make me _believe_ it." She was damned if she'd cry. "Or tell me it didn't happen, that the pictures lied, that it wasn't you. Tell me _anything_ but make me believe you're not out grabbing handy ass again because I'm not young enough or wild enough or pretty enough. Make me believe this is about _you_ being stupid and not _us_ being a bad idea."

She couldn't believe she was saying these things, they sounded so weak, but she'd said them to Genie when she told her what was happening, when she was desperate for logic. Genie just hugged her; it was all she could do.

"Oh, man," Mike muttered, appalled at the damage he'd done. "Please, Bonnie, come here, please," and he grasped her arms and drew her to him so she was kneeling between his legs, facing him. She pulled her face back as if she were afraid of his kiss so he tried to reassure her.

"I'm not out grabbin' ass anymore, I don't want to, I _love_ you. I love _you,_ who you are exactly like this, more than my life. It doesn't matter who she was because nobody loves me like you, nobody takes care of me refuses to put up with my shit, nobody saves me from myself and stands between me and being stupid and miserable and lonely like you do." Now he had her face in his hands, firmly holding her close in front of him. "You're wrong," he whispered, kissing her forehead, "_Te amo_," he repeated and kissed her eyelids, "_Te adoro siempre_," and he scattered more kisses on her cheekbones, nose and chin.

He kissed her so softly, so gently, he hoped it would draw some of the pain away. At first he felt Bonnie's mouth begin to open against his as her emotions almost overtook her. Then he could actually _feel_ her regain control as she pulled away again.

"I'm sorry," he told her, "I know it's lame, but I'm so sorry, I never want to hurt you, never, I can't believe I did this, you _know_ I'm not looking, you know it, God baby I wish I could undo it but I can't." She relented a little and wound her arms around his neck, reaching up so she was pressed against him.

"You hurt me, you hurt me _so bad_," she told him bitterly, "I thought you wouldn't come back when I couldn't reach you, that you were gonna stay with her or bring her back with you, and I didn't know _why_. I trust you Michael, in spite of all that bad past I never thought not to trust you, and maybe you weren't out looking but you found somebody anyway, didn't you? Or she found _you _like all the others did before, the ones you swear you don't want now, and it was _that_ easy to turn you around. Shit, I can't think any more, I can't. I just need it to stop hurting."

He leaned forward and slid to the floor so she didn't have to reach up. She sat on his legs and slumped against him, as if she had nowhere else to go then raised her head from his shoulder and looked him in the eye. "I know you're sorry, I know you feel like shit, and I know you didn't want to hurt me. But there's no way that doing that _couldn't_ hurt me. I bet that 'brunette beauty' knew all about me, like it was some sort of contest, and you helped her win." She saw his face was a mask of misery and stopped, then touched his cheek and looked at him as if for the first time. "God, how could this beautiful man hurt me to the bone like this?"

Mike kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, "I love you, you know it, you _feel_ it."

Bonnie sighed as she pulled away again, and shook the tears from her eyes. "I know."

But she didn't say she loved him too. The one thing that might take the edge off of his fear, the words that by now had become as natural as breathing, and she couldn't say them.

* * *

The phone rang and they both jumped. Bonnie shut her eyes. "Whoever it is let 'em go to hell."

Mike shifted her off of his lap and got up. So few people had their private number (which still had to be changed frequently to thwart press and fans) it had to be someone they knew. He grabbed the phone then slouched onto the floor again, leaning against the sofa. "Nesmith," he announced flatly.

Then Bonnie saw his expression go blank, almost fearful.

"Genie. Hey. Yeah I'm back."

Bonnie was up and gone in a flash. _Let her rip him up, _she thought, _she'll do a proper job of it_.

As for herself, Bonnie was too tired and too hurt and too much in love with him to keep it up much longer... and that scared her more than anything.


	2. Marked Man

Genie's voice exploded in Mike's ear.

"_Y'know Tall Boy, I wish I had a nice big glossy of Bonnie telling me about you and your 'anonymous brunette beauty.' I'd seen the pictures, we'd all seen the pictures, and when she came in she'd already been through a raft of press calls and a gauntlet of reporters, except for Pam of course who would __love__ to cut your bollocks off. I wish I had a picture of what she looked like, you bloody wanker, because it might be enough to punish you right. What's hardest is you not calling her right away, when you knew she'd find out from the press anyway. How the bloody hell could you be that cruel? I never, ever would have picked you for that." _

His eyes were closed. He took in the words like bullets, wondering which one would finally purge him or kill him.

"You're right, Genie, you're right about all of it. You expecting excuses, or reasons? You came to the wrong place. I can't believe I did any of it either, okay, because I've been hoping, I've been _thinking _I've gotten past asshole, that I'd never go back. And no, I don't know what Morris did or what she looked like because I wasn't there but I can guess because I know her that well. She hasn't told me yet but I know she got phone calls at the office; she walked by photographers and reporters, and drove by some more on the way into the studio, and by the time she got to the door she wanted to scream 'Leave me _alone_!' but she didn't. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. How am I doing so far?"

"_Pretty good." _

"Oh great. I'd hate to get this part wrong after fucking up everything else. So she probably ran to your workshop and threw some tabloid shit on your work table, saying 'have you seen this, I don't believe it do you?' Because of course her first defense is to say it's a lie. And you saw them already, but you didn't answer because you couldn't, you looked at the pictures again anyway and you hated me like death. Next she told she knows they're _not_ a lie, but she couldn't find me to ask me about any of it. The desk guy said he couldn't reach me, and the guys didn't know where I was when she called them, and she started to believe they were covering up for me. They were so pissed off at me they didn't speak to me all the way back to L.A. Anyway, she thought maybe I didn't plan to come back, that she'll get a call from some reporter about how I ran off with this brunette extra. Then she asked you something like 'Genie he said this stuff was over, how do I _fix_ this?' That's not just ego, I know she would say that. She wants to fix everything, _needs_ to make it all make sense and work right. And then I guess she just folded up in a chair with her empty hands, grabbing her right hand and that Lone Star ring like a lucky charm, because she does that when she's freaking out. And she was shaking, she was shaking so hard she almost puked except she only had coffee since the day before so her head was pounding, and she said 'Genie what am I gonna _do,_' and you don't know fuck-all what to say or do except to hate me and wish you never worked on her to move in with me, because it was like throwin' her on the railroad tracks."

There was silence on both ends of the phone.

"So did I get the script close?"

"_Yeah. Just about right."_

Suddenly the righteousness and rage was gone from Genie's voice. It was replaced by her own hurt and betrayal, because they were friends too, after all.

"_Why, Michael, why did you do something so cruel and stupid? God, I know you well enough to know you'd bloody kill anyone else who hurt her like this. Were you drunk, high, __what__?" _

He sighed. "It'd be nice to know, wouldn't it? If I was gonna risk everything I love and everything I ever wanted and have, it would be _nice_ to know why, huh? But I don't. Okay, I'd drunk some and smoked some, but that couldn't be all of it. Maybe I will, but right now I don't. No lame excuses or blame or any of that suffering artist shit. And I gotta tell you Genie, I know what you're saying and why, and I know you she's your friend and you love her and right now you hate me worse than poison. And I gotta say, I just don't care. The only thing I care about is what _she_ thinks, not her friends or the guys or her people back in New York. I can't think of living any other way than this, with any other person. I just can't, and I am at her mercy. Can you believe that? First time in my life."

There were some moments of silence on the other end, then Genie spoke a little more hesitantly than before.

_"__Look Michael, don't get me wrong. I hope you get it together, really, and it's not just her I'm thinking about it's you too. I felt like I knew you, and then this happened and I thought what is going __on__ with him to make him act this way, what can go so wrong in his head that he can do this? Look... I'll talk to Bonnie later. I can't make any more sense and don't want to say things I won't be able to take back."_

"Yeah sure. Talk to you later." After they hung up Mike drew up his knees and bent double over them, letting the receiver drop to the floor. _Crash position._ It _felt_ like crashing, only he had been flying the plane. He loved her, _God_ he loved her more than his life, but he did this. He didn't want that woman really, not enough to have gone after her on his own. But he didn't walk away either, just like the old days when one piece of ass was as good as another. There for the taking... so he took it. _Damn._ This was _beyond_ stupid; it was dangerous, and cruel just like Genie said. He knew that at one time he could be the coldest, cruelest son of a bitch ever, and it scared him that this talent might return because now he had something, _everything_ to lose. Suddenly he was so afraid of himself, of what he'd done, that he decided he couldn't tell her all of it. Not even now when he wanted to prove to himself he wasn't the bastard he used to be.

* * *

Bonnie was standing in the doorway where she'd been since she heard the conversation end. She watched Mike, folded up with his head jammed between his raised knees. She didn't move until she heard the moaning from deep inside, a miserable frightened sound like some injured animal. She almost couldn't stop herself from going to him. It was so long a habit of hers when he was played out or frustrated or just plain down, though right now some ugly, fed-up part of her let her stand back and just let him suffer the way he was making her suffer.

"I'm going to bed," she announced, "I have had enough of this stinking day."

Mike slowly got to his feet. Every move he made was slow and measured, as if he were afraid of breaking everything around him.

"I, uh, do you want me to sleep… where? You wanna go to Morris Central tonight?" He paused awkwardly then took a breath. "Whatever you want is okay. Just don't go all armadillo on me... okay?"

"You are not in a position to make requests, Nesmith." Bonnie couldn't admit to him that all she wanted was to be wrapped up in those long arms and surrounded by his scent and the lean warmth of him, and to forget everything else. But if she told him, he'd make it happen... and she'd be lost. She shook her head. "Uh-uh, I'm not gonna hide because _you_ fucked up. Sleep where you want."

Before she could shuffle up the stairs he took her hand and pulled her into the kitchen and poured coffee in a cup for her and one for himself.

"Here," he tapped his mug against hers with a flat "klunk," but said nothing else. She drained half her mug in a gulp, and he did the same. Then he swapped mugs with her, and they finished them off. It felt like a promise.

In the bedroom she peeled off her clothes, stretched with a weary groan, and pulled on one of Mike's Triumph t-shirts.

"I'm gonna take a shower,"he told her. "I'll be back." And he took his robe and disappeared.

Completely drained, Bonnie barely made it to the bed, jerking down the covers clumsily and crawling in to curl up on her side. She didn't even notice the armadillo pose.

Mike came back a few minutes later, toweling his hair. "Hey, Morris," he began, and then thought she was asleep. He tossed the towel on the chair and dropped his robe. Bonnie was rolled up tight facing away from him.

_Don't touch me, don't tempt me. If I think that things are normal now, then it might make the next time easier, and the next. I will not become Phyllis Nesmith, bitter and bereft and wishing I'd done it differently. I'm gonna do it differently now. Even if it kills me._

He stood watching her, a small tightly-bound bump in their huge bed. _Is that bed big enough to hold everything she'd say if I push too hard? _Rights or no, she was not about to listen to what he wanted after what he'd admitted. The notion that he was stupid enough to forget that almost made him smile, but the urge was short-lived. _Was she that way last night, and the night before, defending herself from predators, wondering if I was coming back at all?_

He knelt by her side of the bed and smoothed back the short bangs. She didn't stir but he knew damn well she was awake.

S_he's so wasted, when did she sleep last?_ He stared at her face, softened in the dim light. Even closed, her eyes were red, puffy at the edges. He'd done that. She wouldn't do it in front of him but he'd made her cry, and lose sleep, and made her wonder if she'd be able to keep the life she loved so much. _Shit. I love it too._

"I'm sorry," Mike whispered very quietly. "I'm so sorry." Bonnie's hands were bunched together under her chin and he could see she was clutching her Lone Star ring. When he slid into bed from his side he leaned over to touch her lightly, but she didn't move. He sighed and lay down again, as close to her as he dared.

Bonnie could barely feel his body heat, and realized they'd never slept like this before, with so much space between. She also knew it took a conscious effort on his part not to fall into the old reflex of touching her, that invitation she always accepted, sleeping and awake. What a bizarre irony, that the parts of his life he could ruin so easily were the only ones where he found refuge. Irony or no, right now Bonnie's only refuge was solitude. She curled up tighter, protecting herself from predators, and the more painful irony that this time the "predator" was the man lying next to her.


	3. Truth and consequences

Bonnie woke alone. Well 'woke' may have been too strong a word, as she hadn't ever actually fallen asleep. She could hear Nesmith downstairs. The cast of the next epi had a read-through at the studio today, but thankfully her work was caught up. _Take a picture_, she thought ruefully, _or I'll forget what it looks like. _A thought struck her and she threw on her robe and ran downstairs, talking as she went.

"I wish I could talk to that woman. Nesmith, I _need_ to talk to her. Not to check your story, but to find out if she's going to make a career out of this in the press. I know them, I work with them all the time, so I can head them off first if I know. Gimme her name, and maybe that photographer can help me find her. She wouldn't be the _first_ band-chasing bimbo I put the fear of god and lawyers into." When she caught up to him in the front hall she noticed his face seemed a bit paler than usual. "What?" Her voice grew sharp. "_Is_ there something she could tell me that you haven't?"

He paused, his hand on the doorknob. "There's nothing she'll tell you that you haven't heard already."

"Then why did you just look like a condemned man? Like you were caught or something?"

"Maybe because I feel like one. Look, I'll be at the read-through. Just... just don't, ah, go out or anything without letting me know, okay?" _Don't leave without warning._

Bonnie tried to ignore the look in his eyes. "I'm not the one who runs off the goddamn tracks, Michael. If I leave you won't need a note to tell you."

After Mike left Bonnie felt at loose ends, so she decided to see if she could distract herself with something that at least seemed 'normal'.

* * *

Genie was in the living room, waiting to go shopping with Bonnie. Genie was worried about her being on her own, not that she feared for her life or anything (as if that wanker was worth dying for) but thought getting together might give Bonnie a chance to talk about it more if she wanted to. Genie was feeling a little more able to make sense now that she'd talked to Mike, and had more time for the shock to wear off.

"C'mon, will you," she shouted up the stairs to get Bonnie moving. "Time to do nothing that doesn't feel right!"

"In a minute, Genie," Bonnie hollered back as she finished getting dressed. "Gimme a break will you, I didn't sleep much last night and for all the _wrong_ reasons. Flip on the radio and listen to some tunes. And there better be coffee where we're going!"

"Great whacking barrels of it, I promise!" Genie went into the music room and found the one switch among the seeming hundreds that turned on the radio... just in time to hear the "music news".

_"Aspiring actress and model Nora Wilson has sold her story of a one-night stand with actor and musician Mike Nesmith to the National Enquirer for an undisclosed amount. Three days ago they were snapped locked in a passionate embrace in the bar of the Chicago Hilton, where the Monkees TV show cast and crew were staying while shooting an episode on location. Apparently things heated up when the pair repaired to Wilson's hotel for more Monkee business. In a moment, we'll have portions of a recorded interview with the young actress and model who shared a passionate night with Grammy and Emmy award winner Monkee Mike Nesmith, known for some time to be living with Bonnie Morris, associate producer of the Monkees series."_

"Sonofabloodybitch," Genie muttered and hurriedly shut off the radio. Somebody had to tell Bonnie before the press got to her first. Many of them were almost-colleagues to her, but a scoop was a scoop, and nobody was going to break it to her gently. As if that were possible.

"Hey I wanna hear the weather," Bonnie announced as she trotted into the room, and before Genie could stop her she had flipped the radio back on. There was the breathless, groupie-toned voice of the chippy now described as a "dark haired starlet", describing the wild night she'd had with the supposedly spoken-for Grammy-and-Emmy winning rock star she'd met during the final day of shooting.

_"Let me tell you, the girls don't call him Nine Iron for nothing!"_

Bonnie's eyes got wider and wider as the young woman babbled on, describing the experience in terms just this side of what would lose the station its license.

"That's her. Genie, that's _her_." Another moment of bimbo-babble went by, then Bonnie announced in a monotone, "That lying grab-ass asshole." Then she wheeled, murder in her eyes, to look at Genie,. "Did you know about this?"

"No I didn't , not until just now, he told me what he told _you_."

Bonnie grabbed her bag and the keys to the Pontiac, and headed for the door.

"Wait, where are you going?" Genie asked in alarm.

"I'm gonna kill that lying Texas lowlife."

Genie felt a horrifying certainty that she could do it, and jumped into her own car to follow Bonnie as she tore off for the Colgems TV studios.

* * *

Bonnie screeched into the employee parking lot and raced past the stunned security guard.

"'morning Miss Morris," he called after her, then "'morning Miss... but didn't have a chance to finish her name as Genie followed in hot pursuit.

Bonnie ran into Chip in the corridor. "Where is he?" she demanded. "Where the hell is that lying backstabber?" Chip didn't answer fast enough so she shoved past him and strode to the conference room.

Bob, the writers, the guys and some guest actors who were seated around the conference table looked up from their scripts in alarm as Bonnie burst into the room. Mike was seated at the corner closest to the door, script on the table in front of him, a tall handmade Mexican pottery coffee mug nearby. Bonnie skidded to a halt just inside the door, focused like a laser on Mike.

"Anything you need to tell me, _mi amor_?" The endearment dripped acid. At first Mike was as shocked to see her as the others. Then he knew, when she addressed him as if they were the only two in the room.

"You fucked her," she told him, as if only she knew. Her voice modulated to a growl as she stepped toward him slowly, like a gunfighter on a dusty street. "You fucked her, and you _lied_ to me."

There was little doubt in anyone's mind which crime was worse.

He was standing up to meet her and opening his mouth to speak when she swung at him, screaming "_SHUT UP!_" loudly enough to deafen everyone present. It was a full open-handed roundhouse with all the power of her shoulder and the torque of her legs and hips behind it. To call it a "slap" was a criminal understatement.

The blow connected with with an explosive sound, the impact snapping Mike's head back. He was knocked back a step but missed the chair and landed on the floor. Genie, who had just arrived, was in time to witness it.

Bonnie was in such a blind rage as she stood over Mike that she seemed to have morphed into another creature entirely, one none of these people had ever seen.

He looked up at her with less fear than resignation. _Come and get me_, he thought, _then we'll both feel better._

"You lying _MOTHERFUCKER_!" she screamed, and only Micky was quick enough to read the unhinged look on her face and the way her eyes darted around in search of a weapon. Mike was halfway to his feet when Bonnie seized the oversized pottery coffee mug that could crack his skull with only half the effort she was gathering. Genie and the others seemed nailed in place. For all her periodic bursts of impatience on the set or in meetings, nobody had ever seen her lose control like this.

Her arm was drawn back to deliver another roundhouse, this time with half a pound of ceramic to accelerate her fist, when Micky sprang from his chair and grabbed her.

"Christ, Bonnie, _stop!_" She fought him like crazy, as Mike stood leaning against the table.

Micky managed to knock the mug from her hand thinking _thank god for stunt training_, then reached around her waist and locked up both her forearms, dragging her back from the table. They fell back on one of the upholstered couches, Bonnie pinned in Micky's lap. Her eyes were slits and she was hyperventilating.

"Breathe Bon-Bon, you know how, one, two, three," Micky gasped, tightening his grip around her middle as she continued to struggle.

"Maybe you'd all better split for a few," he told the others. They left in a hurry, Peter and Davy pulling Mike along when he looked back and hesitated. Then he returned his attention to Bonnie, who had quit fighting.

"Can I turn you loose without you going after me?"

"Yeah."

When he let her go she slid over next to him and doubled over her knees, dry heaving the nothing she had for breakfast as Micky rubbed a hand up and down her back.

"If I had a bell I'd close the round," he joked weakly.

Genie knelt on the floor in front of her. "Okay, Bonnie, take it easy."

She sat up regarding Genie and Micky with a dazed stare, and replied with a million-dollar question.

"_How_? I just tried to kill Nesmith, you know that's exactly what I wanted to do even if they don't." She jerked her head toward the door.

"Yeah but you didn't," Micky raised his hand to pull down her random gesturing. "It doesn't _matter_ why so stop right there. I think before anything else happens you have to split _now,_ no more yelling or explaining or accusing."

"Come to my place, Bonnie, we can stop and pick up some of your things, okay?" Genie urged.

Bonnie started to protest but Micky shut her off. "Bonnie, babe, _look_ at this place." She followed the wave of his hand, the overturned chair, the disarranged scripts strewn all over the table, the discarded coffee mug drooling coffee on the beige carpet. And a single red drop, near where Mike fell, shed from his split lip.

She gulped a breath. "Oh Jesus Genie, take me home, this is fucked up."

Micky stroked a hand down the back of her head and stood up. "Good idea. Now don't even stop to apologize to anyone, we can get Mike fixed up with one of us." He grimaced toward the door, and knowing Asshole Deluxe was waiting on the other side he corrected, "He can stay with Peter."

He pulled Bonnie to her feet and kept secure hold of her hand.

When she began to protest, "Don't worry, I'm not gonna..." Micky interrupted again.

"Just shut up and walk, will you? I'm not the one who went psycho with a Mexican souvenir. Let's just get you outta here without an assault charge, okay?"

They hustled her up the hall to the exit but couldn't avoid Mike and the others who were headed in the opposite direction, toward the back parking lot. Mike had a bloody washcloth pressed to mouth, just under the bruise rising below his left eye. He said nothing, but stopped and turned to look back after they passed. Bonnie pulled Micky and Genie to a halt, and faced Mike, Peter, and Davy. They could see the mad rage was gone from her face, replaced by a deep bewildered sadness.

"How could you take us so _lightly_?" Bonnie asked Mike in a surprisingly level voice. "How could you tell me you love me, and swear that you'd prove me wrong again, and know you were still _lying_ to me?" He lowered the washcloth from his swollen bloody lip, but said nothing.

"I don't know you," she spat bitterly as Micky joined the others, and Genie pulled her on their way.

* * *

Once in Genie's car Bonnie stared at her in terror.

"Everyone knows. _Everybody._ Everybody knows he fucked some gorgeous young bimbo while I was here busting my older, less hip ass. There's nowhere to hide_,_ Genie, they work with me so they know where to find me." It had always been Mike who had hated being the center of that attention, not her. But now she wanted to crawl in a hole and pull it in after her. "But it's not work anymore. Suddenly everyone is just _staring_ at me."

Genie hugged Bonnie tight and then took her firmly by the shoulders. "They always did, my darling, because you're part of something special, and help to make it happen. Hold your head up, luv," she ordered, lifting Bonnie's chin, "_he's_ he one that should be hiding, not you."


	4. Separate corners: Mike and Peter

**Peter's Place, later that day**

* * *

When they were out on the back deck Peter handed Mike a fresh ice bag and a beer and set the bucket full of bottles on the table, then sat on one of the deeply padded benches and waited. Mike's shades couldn't cover the damage; his lip had stopped bleeding but was swollen pretty good, and the bruise that started next to his mouth was spreading along his jaw. Mike didn't say a word so Peter cut to the chase.

"So. You gonna tell me why you pissed all over your good life and the woman who loves you more than breathing?"

"Well if I do a dozen other people are gonna push in front of you to hear it." Mike dropped into a nearby lounge chair and winced as he adjusted the ice bag against his face. "I don't know, that's the short answer. I can explain it a million ways, and I've tried to, but nothing sounds like it makes sense."

"Hell, Mike, I _know_ you love Bonnie. That much is a sure thing. But what made you go all suck-my-face and grab-my-ass with that _nobody_? She was around all day at the shoot and you never gave her a second look, so what changed later? Were you drunk, stoned, horny, lonely? She was just _there_ so you pick her up and make out in the dark like the old days? Tell me _something_ man or I'm gonna think there is something very ugly happening inside of you."

"Yeah we were drunk. We were high. I don't know about horny, at least not at first, but you could be right. I know I'd been thinking earlier of what I'd be doing if I was with Morris, but I wasn't with her, so it went out of my head. So it was a party like all the others, dancing and getting high with everybody, cast, crew, you guys. And then it turned." He shook his head. "It _turned_. Then she asked me to walk her to her hotel." He stopped and looked straight at Peter. "I don't know _why_, it was more like 'why not'."

"Tell me what happened, then. I mean _all_ of it because I know you haven't done that yet, not with anybody. Especially not her."

Mike killed the rest of his beer and reached for another. "Like I said. It turned, somehow. And we were getting silly , just silly, laughing and carrying on and telling jokes and all that dumbass stuff. And then she's in my lap and we're groping each other and making out. No words, no thought."

"So who started it?"

"I don't know. What does it matter?"

"Bullshit. You know it matters." He saw his friend stare down at the table, and he knew the answer. "_Why, _man? What were you after? Bored, and looking to get it on with some casting office chick you figured was paid off in advance?"

Mike's head snapped up and he looked offended, but Peter wasn't having it.

"Don't pull that insulted look on me, I'm not the one who was grabbing ass while my girl was working hers off a couple thousand miles away. And if you don't wanna hear it, tough shit, because you know you listen to me different than to the others. So tell me, why did you pick up a knife and stab Bonnie in the heart? It all comes down to that, doesn't it?"

Suddenly all the self-possessed defensive tricks fell away from Mike's demeanor until there was nothing left but disgust and shame.

"You know, I could tell you I just got stupid. Like unaware and high and all that mess, and I'd like to think I can make her believe that too."

"But you don't?"

"No. You saw me man, that week I felt so much like my 'old' party self it was like I wasn't even me. I partied with people I'd never met, local grips and extras, in places I'd never go to sober. Places the press didn't go so that's why you guys never saw any of it. And some nights yeah, I was so horny I'd have fucked a fencepost. I didn't do anything about it, and anyway we weren't hanging out with whores or groupies but with women who liked to have a good time but drew the line at a one-nighter with a TV rock star. In fact some of these babes who knew about the show would ask me about Bonnie, where she was at and why wasn't she here with me, how that must really be a drag. I was part way into the old scene, but not all of it."

"So what happened, then?" Peter was looking harder for a reason that even Mike was, trying to make it make sense so he could stop seeing Mike as the mean bastard he used to be. "If it was all fun and games before, what the hell happened?"

Mike shook his head. "That last night, all bets were off. I feel like a low-life asshole, thinking now of how I was carrying on that night."

"Well we _know_ you didn't go your separate ways after you were busted by the photographer." Peter sounded sick, his voice flat.

The certainty was dark on Mike's face. "Like I said, I walked her to her hotel. We didn't go to the bar this time. And whatever you think happened, happened. In spades. That's why Morris couldn't reach me at our suite. I wasn't just out, I was _all_ the way out."

"You gonna tell her all this? I mean she knows the basics, but before she gets the hairy details from the press..."

"Pete, how _can_ I?" He gestured wildly with the ice bag. "She already got messed up over what almost happened with Phyllis that time, she knows about what i was like before with all the groupies. But this is different. She's no dummy, Pete, never mind telling her all of it, it scared the shit out of me to see what knowing even _part_ of it did to her. And I don't know what to do now."

Peter's voice was a dry as dirt. "I'd say you've goddamn done enough. Man," he rose abruptly, making Mike jump. "You screwed some no-longer anonymous piece of ass, and who knows _where_ she's planning on going with this, and I hope you were at least smart enough to use a rubber so you don't give Bonnie - remember her? – the clap, or a paternity suit to deal with." Peter threw his hands in the air and paced back and forth then stopped again to rant, "You have the _balls_ to sit there drinking my beer and whimpering about not knowing what to do? I'd say you should be grateful for her to leave you alive and not burn your house down. You're my best friend man, and I guess I have to love you anyway, but right now you make me wanna puke."

"Yeah, well we're solid on that one. I'm just hoping she'll talk it out with Genie and figure out how to deal with things. With _me_. It's not good for her, man, it's not. I mean, I've never seen her like today, like the last circuit blew. I just..." he trailed off.

"What else? Come on, I see something else thrashing to get out here." He knew he was right, and could see that Mike didn't want to say it.

"It's all my fault, _all_ of it." He leaned forward and dropped shades to the deck, staring at his clasped hands. "So I feel like an asshole for even feeling it, let alone saying it."

"What's that?"

When he looked up, Mike wore the expression of an abandoned child. "I _miss_ her, Pete. I miss her being with me. Back after that thing with Phyllis, she told me I'm the one she could come to when she needs to get things straight, but I was the one who'd messed them up. And I feel the same way, when I need to sort things out she's the one who always helps me, but not this time, not for either of us. It's like I've smashed something and there's no way to fix it. I guess she'll stay with Genie for a while, she needs to figure out how to deal with me before she can deal with everything else. I know she'd want to hit me again every time she looked at me. I _deserve _it. But Peter I feel like, I feel," he stopped again.

"What?" Peter demanded, "Guilty? Powerless? Clueless? Asshole of the Universe? _What_?" He was mind-bendingly angry at what Mike had done, angrier than he could remember being for a very long time.

Mike looked Peter in the eye and shook his head. "Well yeah, I mean yeah I feel those things. But mostly I feel like I'm missing part of myself, like I cut out my own heart. Pretty lame, huh."

The look on Mike's face put out the flames. Peter sighed and flopped on the bench next to him. "No, man... not lame at all."


	5. Separate corners: Bonnie and Genie

**Mike and Bonnie's place, same time**

* * *

"Bonnie, you okay?" No answer. "Bonnie, we want to be done before he comes back, remember?"

Bonnie was taking so long to "get some work things and some clothes", and had been so quiet about it, that Genie went upstairs after her. She found a couple of packed bags in the bedroom, but no Bonnie. "C'mon, Siobhan, you are scaring me now."

"In here, Genie," Bonnie called from "her" room. "Morris Central", the one built from scratch by the man who was currently breaking her heart. When Genie got there she found Bonnie standing in the middle of the room, her briefcase packed and ready on the floor. She'd taken down a black and white photo from the wall that was added more recently than the others. Some press photographer or other had taken it during a break in shooting on the set. Bonnie was going over some notes with the prop man, and Mike was sitting nearby in"his" chair waiting for his call with the others, script in hand. But he wasn't looking at the script like the others, he was looking at Bonnie.

"Can you tell from looking?" Bonnie asked without looking up. "Look at us. Look at _him_, Genie. He's looking at me, and I didn't know it, and he looks like he's found the rest of his life. Like I'm what he'd pick as his last sight on earth. He's not faking it, he _couldn't_ be. But why couldn't we tell then? He was so worried I'd change my mind, before I moved in here, you know? He was patient and wanted me to be sure and I was, in the end, but I took so _long."_ Genie drew closer to look over her shoulder. "How could I tell then that _he'd_ change his mind, was it because I made him wait too long? Is he hedging his bets or something?" She hung the photo in its place again and finally looked at Genie. "He's said all along it's not that I made him change, he just doesn't _want_ that old life anymore. How come he changed his mind, Genie? It's not like that time with Phyllis, old ghosts haunting everybody, he didn't even _know_ this woman. Why did he screw us up for the sake of nothing?"

Genie gestured emptily. "I don't know, luv. And I think if he had it figured out yet he'd have told you. Maybe Peter will help him set things straight."

"The first thing Pete would do would be to tell him to talk to _me_ about it, to tell the truth, about everything." Suddenly she pointed angrily the photo. "Was this a lie? Was everything else that's _happened_ here a lie? _Look at this _, why didn't I _know? _"

"Because neither did he, because that was then and this is now. Come on." Genie picked up Bonnie's briefcase and coaxed her toward the door. "You're not a fortune teller and neither was he. And you know what this is can't possibly change what happened before."

Bonnie fixed her with an empty gaze. "It can if it's _happened_ before."

Genie wasn't buying it. "Oh come _on_. How many times have you seen him shut down some little groupie, when he didn't even know you were anywhere around? Not just groupies, either. And besides that, the press... they're all over him since you two got together. And all over you, too, my love, in case you hadn't noticed, just looking for some drama."

"Oh so he didn't do it before not just because he _wouldn't,_ just because the press would catch him?"

Genie shook her head. "I'm not going to fight with you so you can forget about it. He lied to you, he screwed around. I honestly don't think it's happened before and seeing him today... never again." Bonnie looked confused so she added, "Didn't you see Mike's face when you knocked him arse over teakettle?"

Her brow furrowed. "No, not really, I was kind of in a red haze, you know? So... I guess he looked shocked."

"No. He looked like he _wanted _it. If Micky didn't get to you before you swung that mug, you know you could have killed him easy."

She didn't answer but her expression said she knew.

"Well I _was_ looking at him, and his look said 'come and kill me'. I swear Bonnie, I'm not making this up. Are you listening?"

Finally Bonnie followed Genie into the bedroom and picked up her bags, then followed her downstairs.

"So now he's suicidal?" Bonnie countered. "Good for him. He's got plenty of supervision." She took in Genie's unpleasant expression. "What? So _I_ am supposed to feel sorry for _him,_ I'm supposed to worry he's okay? He let me crawl and cry all over him, and _beg_ him to tell me he loves me, and he did it all and then some. He could have said it then, what happened, he could have _told_ me last night for Christsake! We were _alone,_ and he kept telling me how wrong he'd been, and how _nothing much happened_ but he was _so _sorry! He could have told the truth then but he didn't, he just crawled into bed like, like..." before she could finish the phrase Genie did it for her.

"Like your man. Which he is. I'll bet he asked you first if it was okay." Bonne's silence told her she was right. "Look, I know you're used to lots of backup when there's trouble, Mike manages to do that without taking your self respect away. But _I'm_ just going to tell you that you have to slow down. Mike went all bollocks up, in mind bending fashion. But if you're ready to call off everything else you two have because of it, then maybe the press were right. Mercurial Monkee and older production/establishment chick, what a joke, never gonna work."

Bonnie stared at her. "I don't _wanna_ call it off, Genie, but _he's_ the one throwing stones in our glass house."

"Please, my dear friend, slow down," Genie pleaded. "I'm not saying you need to tell him it's all groovy, or just kiss and make up or any of that simple stuff. Don't throw away what you have because he mussed it up badly_._ It's not worth it. You've been through too much to shut the door because of this."

"I want to _hate_ him," Bonnie insisted, "I want to hurt him so bad it kills him, like today I wanted to bust his head because it's the only way I knew to hit back. But mostly I want it not to have happened, I want not to doubt him, like before, not to wonder if everything they insinuate in the press is _true._ I never had the slightest doubt about that stuff until now, and nothing is ever gonna be the same for us no matter what happens and you're wrong, it _does_ change the past. Every tacky picture and article that I blew off as ridiculous, I'm gonna wonder _forever._ If he could lie to me for three days he could lie for three years,three decades, forever. All this, all this pain and destruction and _shit_, just because he couldn't keep it in his pants? It doesn't make sense to me, it doesn't."

"Honey I think you know it isn't that simple." Genie cut off Bonnie's coming protest. "It doesn't mean he's not responsible, and that he doesn't have to find a way to make it right. But there's more to it than keeping zipped up and nobody knows better than you. You've told me often enough about how much you know about his past and how little that mattered, and about the lads on the road, because groupies are like stage props or something like that." Genie knew Mike's marriage had come apart over the same issue, but she still felt this was different. "He's to blame, agreed, but that can't be the end, cut and lights out, can it?"

By now they were in Genie's apartment, where Bonnie dropped her bags on the floor and looked at her friend.

"You're not gonna let me just feel sorry for myself, are you?"

Genie smiled warmly. "Right now you've got the rest of the world doing that, and you'd better enjoy it while it lasts. Now let's do the civilized thing we Brits do in every crisis, and have some tea."

As she was going to the kitchen the phone rang. "Hello? That's right, she's here." She shot a look at Bonnie. "Okay, I suppose. Let me ask."

"No I don't want to talk to him!" Bonnie blurted.

"Not him, it's Bob." She handed the phone to Bonnie, who seemed only slightly less reluctant to speak to him than to Mike.

"Listen, Bob, I... Okay. Yeah I guess you're right. Yeah, I have a car, I can do that. Tomorrow, nine a.m. Look, I'm... right. Okay, see you tomorrow." She was about to hang up, but paused. "What? Yeah. I'm okay, considering. Uh-huh. Okay bye."

"Well?" Genie asked.

"He refused to talk about it on the phone. His office, nine o'clock tomorrow morning." She sat down on Genie's paisley-draped sofa with a thump, and started to cry. "God, Genie, I messed up so bad... I always promised Bob that this thing with Nesmith and me would never get in the way of work, and today I lobbed it right in the middle of the conference table like a grenade."

Genie didn't have a sensible response to that so she suggested, "C'mon luv let's get that tea going. We'll worry about what's fair in love and war a bit later."


	6. Sleep with me

Staying at Genie's sounded like good idea at first, but it didn't take long for it to feel not-so-good.

"Genie, I think I need to go home." When she got an uncertain look in reply, Bonnie continued, "I know, it makes sense to go to, I dunno, neutral territory to settle down and maybe get my head clear. But..."

"But home is where that happens, isn't it?" Genie finished putting away the tea things and returned to the living room to sit down next to Bonnie on the sofa. "That's the hardest part of all this isn't it? From the first time I met you two, in the middle of another snit if I remember, I never needed a crystal ball to see how tight together you are. And since then... well. When you are the best refuge for each other that you've got when it all gets too deep and dark, where do you go at a time like this?" Bonnie nodded in silence, and Genie hugged her. "Go home, love. Maybe some small thing will make sense there."

Bonnie sighed. "It's the only place that has, sometimes. It's not as if I'm not safe there... after all it's me who pounded _him_."

Genie drove Bonnie back to the glass house on the hillside.

_Crystal ball... crystal house, _Bonnie thought as she dragged inside, trying hard to ignore the aching sense of absence that followed her like an echo as she went upstairs. So many things in her life had finally become clear, right here. _Why isn't it working now?_

* * *

She refused to sleep in "Morris Central" as if she were hiding from the real world. Instead, after half-heartedly washing up and brushing her teeth she went to the bedroom, dropped her clothes in a heap on the floor and crawled naked into bed. She moved from her side closer to his and buried her face his pillow, breathing deep to capture the faintest ghost of him. She swore she wasn't going to cry any more, in fact she hadn't cried since she got off the phone with Bob.

But now as she lay there surrounded by _absence_ her resolve faded and she cried quietly, endlessly, into Nes's pillow. She cried for the absence, she cried for her mistakes and his, for their combined double dose of _stupid_ that was the catalyst for all this misery. Most of all she cried just because she didn't feel him next to her, around her. Not caring what he'd done or what she'd done to him, she just needed him _with_ her. It took awhile, but she finally fell asleep.

* * *

She didn't hear the quiet footstep through the door some time later, the sound of boots dropping one by one on the thick carpet. But she felt the light touch of fingers on her back, and they unlocked that hard spring that kept her coiled up tight.

"Nes?" she began but he shushed her, so she just grabbed on tight and let him roll her up against him, puzzled because he'd come to bed in his t shirt and jeans.

He wouldn't let her look too closely at him, pressing her face into his shoulder and murmuring, "Sshh." He stroked his fingers up and down her back, cradled the back of her head and then her whole body. His breath was warm against her ear as he whispered to her, his arms so tight around her she could hardly breathe.

"You're the only one can stop the noise in my head," he told her. "I should step back and leave you be for a while, I know that, but I haven't slept in days, please..."

There was silence for a few minutes as she lay still in his arms, afraid she might wake up and find herself alone again.

"I can't make sense without you, Morris," he told her, "let's just not hurt each other for awhile okay? Just sleep with me, just that, baby just let me stay awhile, okay..."

He was pleading, and for the first time she could remember he sounded so _young_. It was so easy for Bonnie to forget that, they were equals in so many ways. But right now Mike Nesmith wasn't equal to anything. He wasn't a swaggering gimme-more know-it-all, just a guy in his twenties who went from zero to _everything_ so fast that even his best intentions couldn't always keep up with his bad judgment. He still lost his grip sometimes, but right now she could feel him hanging on for dear life in more ways than one.

_Sleep with me._ No sly seduction or exhausting debate. _Sleep_ _with me_...maybe they both could rest their minds for the first time since he came back.

_I can't make sense without you. _Well he was the only one who could help her when _she_ was so tangled up, he was calm and gentle with her in a way he couldn't seem to manage with anyone else. So she nodded, her face lying easy against him, and kissed his shoulder.

"Okay. I haven't slept either... I'm so _tired..._"

Suddenly Bonnie didn't want to sleep at all, she wanted to feel him and smell him and stay awake holding him all night, but the way he rocked and soothed her (and himself) overcame her vigilance. She fought the softening of her senses, but the world faded to the touch of his hands and the sound of his breathing.

* * *

Mike had fought against coming to her; after everything that had happened he wanted to give her space to get her head straight. It just wasn't fair to crowd her. But it felt so totally _wrong_ as he lay in the guest room at Peter's, staring at the ceiling. They both were in so much pain over this, why the hell should it hurt even more for the sake of something as lame as "space"? He debated for a long time with himself, he weighed and wondered and in the end all that mattered was relieving the ache in his gut. He just needed to _be_ with her. Deep down he was afraid of what sex would do to them right now, he knew it would blur everything else and make them decide they could make it right in bed, the same stupid mistake he and Phyllis had made too often.

Sweet Jesus but he was _tired,_ he just wanted to _sleep,_ was so grateful to touch her and feel her unroll in his arms like she used to do. He hated that he'd hurt her so much and now all he wanted was to make it right. Everything he wanted was here and now, to calm his fears and hers, to smell her hair, dry her tears and get lost in the sweet warmth of her. He knew one night wouldn't fix things, not right now, but when he'd left that dark guest room and borrowed Peter's keys to get here he hoped they could somehow split the difference; just sleep where they both belonged, and leave the daytime to work out the rest of it. He wasn't sure of any of it, though. He just did what he knew he couldn't do without.

* * *

The sun was barely reaching the curtains when Mike carefully unwrapped himself from Bonnie to slip out of bed. She mumbled and he froze, not wanting to wake her. If she asked him to stay, crying again, he didn't know what he'd do. Yeah, he did, he'd never move from the spot. She settled back into sleep. He leaned down for a last look but he didn't dare kiss her, though he wanted badly to. He picked up his boots, crept down the stairs, pausing as he put them on to take another look up toward the bedroom before trudging down the hill to where he'd parked Peter's car so Bonnie wouldn't hear him arrive... or leave.

"I hope Pete's in a forgiving mood," he muttered to himself as he headed back Peter's place.

* * *

Mike sat in Peter's kitchen an hour later, drinking the coffee he'd made. The car keys were still on the table where he'd dropped them.

"Hope you left me some gas," Peter said as he stumbled half asleep into the kitchen. "Hope you didn't swill all the coffee."

Mike looked up. "Yeah and no, that order."

"Good, we gotta be at makeup call by eight, so I'm gonna need both." He eyed Mike closely. "So... you get some sleep last night?"

"Yeah. Nothing else, just sleep."

"You don't have to tell me."

"Yeah I do. If I got no respect for myself, at least I'd like to give someone else a reason to have some."

Peter poured himself a cup of coffee. "I'm working on it, man. I'll be on the deck with the paper. Unless you took that too. "

Mike shook his head and added with the blackest of humor, "Well maybe just the want ads." When Peter had left the room, he dropped his head in his hands and sighed. Maybe he should have left a note. Maybe he shouldn't have gone at all. What if she thought she'd been dreaming? Just as well. Then she wouldn't wonder why he didn't stay. He was wondering that one himself.


	7. Everybody's sorry

Bonnie sat in the chair across the desk from her boss, feeling something like a twelve-year old in the principal's office... but with much more at stake than a few detentions.

"Bob, I don't know what to say..."

He rolled his eyes and slapped a hand on his desk, making her jump.

"Well for _christ_sake don't say you're sorry... 'sorry' is getting to be a _real_ drag." When Bonnie looked confused, he went on, "_Everybody's _sorry. Nesmith's sorry he grabbed ass like the old days, you're sorry you decked him for it, _I'm _sorry you decked him in the middle of a read-through, the network is sorry we have to delay the episode so we can shoot around a busted face, and that bimbo and her agent are _very _sorry they missed the fine print on the extras contract that said hands off the REAL cast or you don't get paid, and keep your mouth shut or you get sued. But they are learning real fast."

"But," Bonnie ventured timidly, "isn't it too late for her to shut up?"

"Too late for that dumbass interview but _not_ too late for her to retract in order to save herself from a Custer's Last Stand full of lawyers." When Bonnie started to open her mouth he cut her off with, "And don't _thank_ me either. I didn't do it for you."

Silence reigned for a minute or two, then Bob sighed and spoke more calmly.

"You remember what I said when I found out about you and Nesmith?"

Bonnie thought for a minute. "'It's your funeral'?"

He got up from his chair, and waved his hands toward the ceiling as if appealing to heaven, then sat down again and looked Bonnie in the eye. _"No _the other thing! That I didn't give a shit unless it started to interfere with the job, and the show."

She found it hard to look him in the eye, but she did. "Look, I know I crossed the line..."

The mad gesturing started up again. "_Crossed_ the line_? _Babe, you _broad jumped_ over it with both feet and a mean right hook!"

"I hope the other cast didn't quit or anything," she mumbled, mortified. There had just been the regulars, a one-line walk-on, and, well, the big guest star, Rose Marie, to witness her fireworks. Rose Marie had worked with them on another episode, and had been glad to come back for "Monkee Mother." That could all be over now, but Bob's derisive snort told her otherwise.

"Rosie told me she's seen worse than that in summer stock. But we'll have to find another walk-on." He stopped then, and huffed a huge breath.

_He's gonna can me_, Bonnie thought, _who can blame him?_

"Okay, if you want me gone I won't put up a fight. Just tell me when and how." She was surprised when he rolled his eyes and laughed

"Don't be so goddamned dramatic. I just wanted to make sure we were clear... that this kind of thing will _not_ happen again, anywhere within ten miles of this place. If you and Nesmith wanna turn your lives into a low rent soap opera from hell, you do it on your _own_ time and at your _own_ place. I have already had this little chat with him. So do _you_ get it?"

"Yeah. Bob, really, I'm..."

"I told you not to say it," he warned. "_Nesmith_ managed not to say it... no surprise there. He could flip the bird to a bus full of nuns and not apologize. So... time to talk about what comes next."

Here was the opening she was waiting for. She'd been thinking... maybe a visit New York might help her clear her head. She hadn't spoken to Ari or Lulu yet, and knew they wouldn't call first. Before she and Mike had returned to LA after that big Phyllis mess, Ari had told her "If you need me you know I'm here... but you're a big girl now, so remember 'need' and 'want' are different." As for Lulu, she frequently reminded Bonnie, "I'm your best friend and I love you beyond all reason... but I'm no un-marriage counselor." Still, Bonnie thought maybe...

"I don't suppose I could take a few days... go East and see my friends?" To be honest she was only half-sure she wanted to... the other half was very afraid to walk away right now. _  
_

"You wreck my production schedule," Bob blurted, his eyes bugging out, "and you want _time off?_ Whatever you're smoking, I wish you'd share it!" When he saw the look on Bonnie's face, equal parts shame and desperation, he shifted gears again. "Go East, huh. And do what? Hide out in the Village with a bunch of hippies and wait for divine inspiration to fix the mess you two have made? _That's_ not gonna fix a damn thing. Hey, don't look at me like that, we've all been working together long enough for me to hear about 'mamadillo', and what it does. And _doesn't_ do." Suddenly he looked caught out, as if he'd overplayed a secret hand, and the bluster returned.

"So you can forget about time off, I need you here. You can slam shut, or whatever it is you do when life gets gruesome, on your own time, too. You're gonna work with Frawley and re-do the shooting schedule to get as much shot as we can until Nesmith's face is back to normal."

Bonnie couldn't believe it was that bad... she'd just _slapped_ him. Hard, yeah, but still... then again she knew nothing could make Bob change the production schedule... and delaying it? That would take an earthquake, the plague... or an unshootable star.

Bob interrupted her thoughts by barking, "Okay, I told you what, you go and figure out how, which as I recall is your job!" He pointed to the office door. "I need a whole new production schedule by tomorrow afternoon. Figure on about three days before we can shoot any Nesmith scenes. Go! And make sure he gets home without running into any press, we don't want any pictures right now. Don't _look_ at me like that... it's still your job to wrangle the talent. Besides, you've had a little while to cool off. Try to _keep_ it that way, okay? Both of you."

Well, that seemed to be that. "Uhm, okay, I'll call James and make sure Nesmith gets home. Where is he?" She didn't exactly feel solid enough to face him, and didn't know what to think about his odd late-night visit (and early morning disappearance). But obviously, she didn't have a choice.

"Recording Two, said he's working on some songs. Thank god he's still good for _that._"

* * *

A very few minutes after Bonnie departed Peter, Davy, and Micky sauntered in and sat down, as usual, wherever they pleased.

"So?" Micky asked.

"I hate to admit it, but you were right. She wanted to run back to New York, which would've screwed up everything even more. So I said no time off, and sent her back work. Like you said. But I gotta say this is a _very_ weird scene..." and here he eyed the trio suspiciously, "you've never been very worried about the shooting schedule before."

"Well delays are a drag, Bob," Peter told him brightly.

"Besides," Davy added with a wave toward Micky, "you know at least _two _of us are professionals."

"Uh-huh..." He did not look convinced. "Professional _con artists_. Okay, clear out. We're gonna have a new schedule by tomorrow, first meeting at three pm."

Micky popped out of his chair and pranced around the room before curtsying in front of Bob's desk. "We'll be there with _bells on_!" His voice dropped to a manly growl as he faced Davy and Peter. "On, men!"

After they slammed the door behind them the only sound that followed was the thud of Bob's head when it dropped forward on the desk.

"I'm gonna die young," he moaned.

* * *

Bonnie slipped quietly into the control booth. On the long walk from Bob's office, past the sound stages, and to the section of the building devoted to music, she tried to come up with something to say besides "Bob sent me to take you home." In a way she was glad Bob denied her the time off... he was right. Nothing could get fixed that way at work or... the other stuff.

The lights were off in the booth, making the lit studio below look brighter than usual through the glass window. As usual the room was strewn with coiled cable and various instrument stands and rolling chairs and stools. The drums were still set up from the last session, and the mike rigs hung from the ceiling like the world's weirdest mobiles, the microphones themselves safely stored away.

Off to one side amid some music stands and other recording paraphernalia, sitting cross-legged on the floor with one of his many spiral notebooks beside him and "Blondie" in his lap, was Nesmith. He was facing the back wall, bent over the guitar, pausing now and then to write down the stuff Bonnie always thought of as magical code: the musical notations and snatches of lyrics that somehow managed to combine into the most amazing things. She slid the monitor to the lowest level and flipped the "in" switch, then had to bump the level up in order to hear the unplugged Gretsch. He was playing a Samba rhythm, but she recognized the tune immediately, and when she heard that sweet tenor come in it was so quiet she had to strain to hear.

_I... saw when you walked by... the love light in-_

The music cut off with a flat hand slapped onto the strings, and a single spoken word followed.

"Goddamn."

Bonnie flipped the switch to "in/out" and turned on the engineer's microphone.

"Okay if I come in?"

The dark head lifted, but he didn't turn around.

"Sure."

Bonnie killed the speakers, still not having a single idea in her head except how blindly, helplessly, irredeemably she loved Michael Nesmith. Whispering "I knew I must try..." under her breath, she went down the steps to the studio.


End file.
